


Lazy Days, Hazy Nights

by pheyne



Category: NCIS
Genre: Gen, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-28
Updated: 2012-07-28
Packaged: 2017-11-10 22:34:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/471437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pheyne/pseuds/pheyne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony discovers that he may not be as hard to read as he'd thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lazy Days, Hazy Nights

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta-ed; set sometime in Season Two (pre-SWAK though) and probably AU in light of our most recent season; completely pointless babble that should serve as a lesson to everyone to never clean out your WIP closet because you might then be tempted to post something that would have otherwise enjoyed a lovely, natural death

Tony paid for the pizza, toed the front door shut, and set the box on his kitchen counter. Just as well pizza was a ‘finger food’; it had been one hell of a week and every plate, spoon, and fork still sat in his sink, unwashed and probably unsalvageable at this point. He’d just reached for the paper plates when Tim cleared his throat and rocked Tony’s world with three little words.

“Are we dating?”

Tony forced himself to carry through on the plate thing. He even managed a pathetic little laugh that almost sounded like his normal juvenile self.  


“It’s Saturday, which is sad, and there’s food involved so I guess I can understand your confusion, Probie, but – no. We are definitely not dating.”  


“Oh, thank god.”  


“Hey?!” Tony couldn’t help feeling a little insulted.  


“Sorry. I didn’t mean – it’s just, you know, I’m still not sure where this thing with Abby is going and—” Tim shrugged helplessly. “Sorry.”  


So much for team building exercises. Tony helped himself to two pieces then decided – _fuck it_ – and added two more. He marched to the sofa and plopped down at the other end, as far away from Tim as he could manage. Tomorrow, he would buy an armchair – a fucking Barcalounger – and the next time he had the guy over again, _if_ he ever had the guy over again, Tony would be seated comfortably in the apartment equivalent of Antarctica.  


From his corner of the sofa, Tim watched him with careful eyes, making no move towards the food. Tony didn’t care. Eat. Don’t eat. At the very least, it meant no grocery shopping in the morning. In the end, though, Tim’s wide eyes made Tony feel like he was clubbing baby seals with his every bite of pizza crust and he’d always been shit at acting like that sort of tough guy which was why he generally let Gibbs carry the role.  


“You realize this is not exactly a safe topic for light chitchat among law enforcement types, right, Probie?” he finally said.  


“I really didn’t mean—”  


“What?”  


“Anything. I didn’t mean anything.”  


“You meant something.”  


“Well, like you said, it’s Saturday and we’ve kind of been making this basketball thing a weekly – well, thing.”  


“Shooting hoops is not a super secret underground bat signal to do the horizontal mambo, McGee.”  


“I know that.” Tim looked hurt. “I didn’t think you were hitting on me. Not really. And I never said I wouldn’t be interested – not that I am interested. I mean, I think it’s important that you know I’m not a homophobe. It’s just—”  


Tony rolled his eyes.  


“Just tell me already. What made you think I was into dating guys at all?”  


“Aren’t you?”  


Tony stopped chewing because swallowing was now out of the question. Either the guy was one insanely observant techno-geek or he was guessing but, in either case, damage control was definitely in order.  


“Okay, maybe we’ve only really worked together for – what? Nine months? But seriously, Probie. Do I not discuss my dating habits enough? Because Gibbs is convinced the only reason we’re all attending the sexual harassment seminar again on Tuesday is because of me.”  


Tuesday would mark the third time in two months they’d had to sit through that psychobabble mess. Tony’s high score on Tetris promised to withstand the test of time for at least a couple of decades at this point.  


“Really?” Tim sounded genuinely surprised. “I thought it was because of Gibbs.”  


Tony spat pepperoni, sausage, and cheese onto his plate and stared incredulously at the boy genius he’d already privately nicknamed McGoo.  


“Why in _hell_ would you think _that_?”  


Tim shrugged.  


“Well, all the head slaps are pretty inappropriate. Then there’s the way he’s always invading your personal space. Not just ‘your’ space but all our spaces. Not to mention the way Gibbs checks out your ass when you’re not looking. Well, not my ass. I meant ‘your ass’ in a more specific ‘your ass’ sense.”  


_Not thinking about that. Not now. Probably not ever because I love my job for the first time in my adult life and fantasizing about Jethro Gibbs is the first step down the fastest path to hell possible never mind that I can’t seem to stop beating off to the memory of that nailing him to the ground in that back alley chase. Fuck!_  


Tony slid his paper plate onto the coffee table, appetite a distant memory.  


“I don’t care whose ass you meant. You cannot go running around saying shit like that, Probie. I mean it. Besides, you have to be off your medication to think Gibbs swings from that tree.”  


“You think so?”  


“Is that an actual question? Yes!”  


“I don’t. I mean, I think the guys with the most machismo are the most suspect, you know? You, Gibbs - like the Spartans.”  


“Like the who? Wait. Never mind. It doesn’t matter anyway. Just promise me that you will never, ever, ever put the words ‘Gibbs’ and ‘ass’ into the same sentence again.”  


“Tony—”  


“Just promise me.”  


Tim tilted his head and frowned quizzically at him.  


“You really think—?”  


“Marine. Ex-wives. That haircut. Yes, Probie. I really think. Now, promise me.”  


“I promise.” There was a long pause as Tim fidgeted with his sweatpants’ drawstring. “Is this – I mean, are we—?”  


“Yes,” Tony said firmly, not waiting for the younger agent to find the nerve to finish his question. Tim was a smart guy who promised to be a talented agent. Gibbs was right to want him on their team and Tony actually kinda liked working with the man – when he wasn’t going all liberal-minded voyeur with that over-active imagination of his. Tony would be damned if he was going to let a half-assed conversation like this one snuff out that all that potential. “Yes, we’re shooting hoops next weekend. No, I’m not hitting on you. Yes, you’re paying for dinner next time.”  


“Okay.”   


He watched Tim mask his relief by reaching for the last slice on Tony’s plate and stuffing half of it in his mouth before trying to talk around it, eyes fixed on the greasy crust. “So you really don’t date guys?”  


“I really don’t date guys,” Tony lied evenly. “Sorry to bust your system or whatever.”  


“Okay,” Tim repeated, swallowed, and smiled an evil smile. “But Gibbs really does check out your ass.”  


Tony gave up and went to dig beer out of his fridge.


End file.
